"Wooo—"
The discordant sounds of steam whistles, churning machinery, and iron wheels grinding against rails filled his ears.
Along the wide expanse of Wyvern Street in Isdalia ran multiple sets of tracks. Steam locomotives traversed them back and forth, carrying all manner of people to every corner of the city.
"Extra! Extra! Read all about it in the Imperial Daily! His Majesty Cassius has arrived in the Elemental Plane of Fire to conquer new lands once more!"
"The Claubau Military Industry Group declares its unconditional support for all special operations by the Imperial Ministry of Taxation, sternly condemning all tax evasion!"
"Hiring armed escorts! Escort merchant caravans bound for the Fadlan region! Requirements..."
"Looking for teammates for the newest Giant Ruins dungeon! Level 4 or higher with ample combat experience required! No wild magic sorcerers! No wild magic sorcerers!"
"Dammon's Blacksmith Shop, a paradise for adventurers! Your premier choice for crafting equipment—"
"Citizens, please obey regulations!"
"His Majesty Cassius is watching your every move at all times!"
Wyverns bearing knights beat their wings, skimming by in low flight.
Listening to the clamorous yet familiar racket and watching the bustling crowds on the street, George, who sat by the window, broke into a faint smile.
"So..."
"They are the true 'Imperial Dream.'"
Only now did George remember why he had chosen to settle in Isdalia, and why he felt so proud of this city.
It was always brimming with vitality—an impure, savage, and rough-hewn vigor.
Whether street peddlers, shouting newsboys, hawking blacksmiths, or eccentric Starfallen, they were all clawing their way upward by any means necessary—just as he once had.
The old Northlands had once filled him with despair; the chasm between noble and commoner had been insurmountable.
It was an all-encompassing divide in status, resources, perspective, and military might—a disparity so absolute that nobles and slaves seemed like two species from entirely different worlds.
Even if he worked himself half to death, the best praise he could hope for from a noble was a dismissive, "He's a hard-working beast."
Under the order of the Northlands, every single person was shackled fast to their designated place, unable to break free for their entire lives.
And George, branded with the mark of a slave, had been born under the boots of everyone else. That was the fate he was doomed to carry as a slave.
Lowly as dirt, worthless as weeds.
In the words of the reverend clerics in the cathedrals, the souls of slaves were defective dregs formed of foul water and filthy ash, requiring unending labor to cleanse themselves.
In George's eyes, the former Northern Kingdom had been like a rotting...
At this thought, George couldn't help shuddering, muttering softly under his breath, "Fortunately... fortunately the Northlands fell."
George had been unfortunate, for he had been born a wretched slave.
Yet he was also fortunate.
Unlike countless generations of his ancestors and tens of thousands of other slaves, he had been granted the chance to change his fate.
The Emperor had burst onto the scene like the sun, crushing the thousand-year-old Northern United Kingdom like dry weeds.
The Empire utterly annihilated the old northern order, dragged the nobility to the guillotines, and forged a brand-new order in its place.
George knew very well that the Cinder Empire was neither fair nor kind. It was like a monstrous mechanical beast, subsuming everyone into its colossal frame.
Yet it was also forgiving. It offered every soul a path upward; if you risked your life in service to the Empire, there was at least a sliver of a chance that the Empire would reward you—or as Trump put it, "social mobility."
George was one of the lucky few. He had struck a string of good fortune, first obtaining the status of a first-class citizen by reporting enemy spies, and later earning the rank of baron through battlefield merits after enlisting.
George's story had even been featured in the Imperial Daily, turning him into a role model for countless people of humble birth who sought to better their lots.
Reflecting on this as he watched the hurried pedestrians outside, George felt a swell of poignant emotion.
Soon, however, Grace's voice cut through his thoughts.
"George, what are you looking at?"
George turned his head. "Nothing much. Just watching the scenery along the way. Isdalia is developing faster and faster."
Grace chuckled and said, "The entire nation's resources are concentrated right here in Isdalia—how could it not change fast?"
"You probably don't leave the house much, do you? What you see around Wyvern Street is nothing; the area around Emperor Square is where things are truly bustling. Next time, I'll take you to see the newly finished Grand Coliseum. Now that is magnificent."
"I've heard about it, but I don't have much interest."
George smiled as well, turning back to point out the window. "After all... once you've witnessed that, no matter what other building you see, it will only seem utterly ordinary."
Following the direction of George's finger, Grace looked out. There stood the Grand Altar of Isdalia, towering majestically over the land and looking down upon all living things in the city.
Wreathed in wisps of thin clouds, the magnificent structure of white marble looked as though it did not belong to the mortal realm.
Even from the most remote corner of Isdalia, one needed only to raise their head to see the white altar and be reminded of His Majesty the Emperor's radiance.
Grace paused in slight surprise, then shook his head with a wry laugh. "Well, naturally. That's the sacred ground where His Majesty Cassius was crowned, after all."
"I watched it rise into the sky with my own eyes back then. That sight was... truly unforgettable for a lifetime."
"Yeah," George sighed in agreement.
"I even took part in the altar's construction project two years ago. Back then, Isdalia was just a stretch of barren wilderness. Who could have imagined it would grow into the city it is today?"
"Forget it, let's not dwell on that. We're not the big figures who truly decide the Empire's fate anyway. Who knows what the future holds?"
Grace nodded slightly in agreement with George's words, but then seemed to recall something and spoke up again: "Right, have you heard about the military's new system?"
"Something called a rank system, wasn't it?"
George thought for a moment, recalling the news he had heard a few days prior, and continued, "They say it's a hierarchy designed specifically for the military, completely separate from the nobility system."
"Battalion commanders like us will probably be appointed lieutenant colonels. They say we'll even be issued epaulets."
Grace waved a dismissive hand, his voice laced with mild indifference. "What does that amount to? It doesn't really affect those of us who have already been ennobled."
He leaned in close, adopting a conspiratorial tone. "What I'm talking about is the 'military specialization' Marshal Duoluo mentioned in the latest report!"
George's curiosity was instantly piqued.
"What's that? I haven't bought today's Imperial Military Gazette yet."
Grace pulled a crumpled, folded sheet of paper from his uniform pocket and said smugly, "Even if you bought it, it wouldn't help. This news won't be published until two days from now. I learned about it in advance through a friend in the Propaganda Department."
"You should know the Empire has opened up several colonies recently, right?"
George nodded. "Of course. There's the Brass Fortress in the Elemental Plane of Fire, Dragonshadow City in the Underdark, and the Casper Hills to the south."
Grace said, "You have to realize the environmental differences among those three places are massive—the Elemental Plane of Fire is scalding like purgatory, the Underdark is perpetually shrouded in pitch darkness, while the Casper Hills have an environment closest to Anzeta, perhaps even slightly warmer."
George understood at once. "So that's why they want this 'military specialization,' isn't it? The Empire will specifically train units tailored to specific battlefields to cope with the local extreme environments."
"Exactly."
Grace's expression turned quite solemn. "This is a major matter that will determine our future! Do you want to go suffer in the Elemental Plane of Fire or the Underdark? Or do you want to head south to claim military honors?"
"It truly is a big deal..."
George scanned the document in his hands, his expression growing somewhat grave.
Indeed, the Empire's peace would not last long. For a behemoth born for war, expansion was its instinct.
And for claws and fangs of the Empire like George, the most important question was where they would be headed in the future and whether they could achieve merit and distinction.
"Military specialization, huh..."
Before he could ponder further, a shrill whistle interrupted his contemplation.
"Wooo—"
"Arriving at the Imperial Third Military Training Base. All passengers, please disembark in an orderly manner."
Through a simple loudspeaker, the conductor's voice echoed through the carriage. The officers and soldiers on board filed out of the train one after another.
"I'll be off first, George."
"Alright, see you later."
The two stepped off the train and walked toward different sections of the military training base.
George belonged to the imperial infantry, while Grace belonged to the artillery corps.
During the War of Unification, Grace had decisively opened fire, accurately striking the enemy command post and blowing a northern earl to pieces. That was how he had stood out from the ranks of ogre artillerymen.
"Good day, Viscount Seth."
"Mm."
Walking into the infantry base, the variety of races inside was remarkably diverse; hobgoblins, ogres, humans, and tieflings were all common sights.
However, hobgoblins and tieflings generally held higher positions. Most of them were veterans who had joined back during the Cinder Nest days, and they had dukes backing them.
That was something George could never hope to match.
Even so, after obtaining dragon bloodlines, racial tensions had subsided significantly—for the people of the imperial army, dragon blood was the sole benchmark for measuring nobility of lineage.
George's status as a baron could only be considered commonplace in this military camp.
The supreme commander of his unit was a hobgoblin marquis, a veteran who served at Marshal Duoluo's side.
Spotting a hobgoblin hurrying toward him, George hastily saluted in greeting—this was his direct superior, Arturo Redridge.
Hobgoblin names often followed this style.
"Good day, Count Arturo. You look in high spirits today."
"George?"
The tall dragonblood hobgoblin lowered his gaze, sizing up the human before him.
This George had originally been a reservist who joined midway, but because he trained with extraordinary diligence, he had been granted an exceptional promotion to regular soldier and had repeatedly distinguished himself on the battlefield.
Arturo held this human in reasonably high regard.
Hobgoblins generally despised humans from the bottom of their hearts, referring to them as "walking lambs" and "cowards."
Yet Arturo, who had seen much of the world, knew that the potential of humans was far higher than they imagined.
Moreover, in his experience, while hobgoblins were of his own kind, they tended to be ruthless, ambitious schemers; humans, by contrast, were far easier to control and manage.
"You came at the right time. I'm just about to convene a military meeting. Come with me."
"Yes, Lord Count," George answered promptly.
Following behind the hobgoblin count, he ascended the base's spiral staircase and soon arrived on the second floor, entering the conference room.
After a half-hour wait, the officers of the various regiments and battalions had all gathered.
Following the military structural reforms a few months prior, imperial infantry used the battalion as its basic tactical unit. Each battalion consisted of four to six companies, numbering roughly three hundred to six hundred men; three battalions formed a regiment; six regiments formed a division.
Above the division, an "army corps" served as a strategic combined-arms formation equipped with multiple infantry, cavalry, and artillery divisions.
For instance, the Seventh Corps, to which George belonged, comprised three infantry divisions, one dragonbeast heavy cavalry division, and one artillery division primarily staffed by ogres.
George was a battalion commander in the Third Regiment of the Seventh Corps' Second Infantry Division, commanding four hundred and seventy-three men, most of whom were human.
Arturo Redridge was the commander of the Second Infantry Division.
Inside the conference room, Count Arturo took the seat of honor, the regimental commanders sat around the long table, and battalion commanders like George stood around the perimeter.
Seeing that almost everyone had arrived, Arturo spoke in a clear, resonant voice: "Gentlemen, you've all heard some rumors lately, haven't you?"
A regimental commander replied cautiously, "Lord Arturo, you're referring to the 'military specialization' mentioned by Marshal Duoluo, correct?"
"That's right."
The hobgoblin nodded slightly, stood up, and declared forcefully, "Since you understand the basic situation, I'll be blunt—the Empire's armed forces are about to undergo a massive reshuffle. The days of you lounging about doing nothing are over!"
"Marshal Duoluo has issued special directives to establish specialized, systematic forces to adapt to the environments of each respective battlefield."
With a wave of the hobgoblin's hand, a magic crystal lit up, projecting the purgatorial scenes of the Elemental Plane of Fire before everyone.
"Soldiers with high degrees of draconic transformation may voluntarily enlist in the Elemental Plane of Fire Expeditionary Corps."
"You will undergo special training, receive all sorts of heat-resistant gear, and head to the most dangerous and hostile environment of the Elemental Plane of Fire—yet in exchange, you will also be able to earn lavish military merits there!"
"Those who fail to meet the requirements will partly be assigned to the Homeland Border Defense Corps to garrison our frontiers."
"And the most elite units will be consolidated into the Imperial Continental Corps to partake in the grand cause of conquering the Feanso Continent in the future!"
Arturo slammed his palm on the table, his tone impassioned as the magical illusion displayed vast continents, majestic cities, and even the holy city of Holy Fadlan.
A stir broke out among the assembled officers.
Arturo's voice grew solemn, his eyes burning with intensity as he said, "High Command will dispatch military advisors to inspect and evaluate us."
"Whether you stay in the homeland to drift through your days, brave the Underdark and the Elemental Plane of Fire, or march to the opulent southern continent will depend entirely on your own choices!"
Staring at the projection on the table, George remained silent, but his heart surged with surging tides, faint glints of light flickering in his golden pupils.
*Isdalia is wonderful, but—I want to see a wider world and conquer the south for His Majesty Cassius!*
His fists gradually clenched, his gaze growing increasingly resolute.
Meanwhile, varied expressions showed on the faces of many officers in the room; quite a few were even tempted to try their luck in the Elemental Plane of Fire.
Monsters and humans lived together, sharing a common faith and language, subservient to the rule of the same empire.
They journeyed to diverse planes, carrying muskets and cannons to every corner of the world, risking life and limb for power, wealth, and the ceaseless climb upward.
This was a fanatical era. This was—the age of empire.
Chapter 471